


monster at the end of the book

by kellifer_fic, maichan808 (maichan)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Future, Full Shift Werewolves, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellifer_fic/pseuds/kellifer_fic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/maichan/pseuds/maichan808
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not like he forgets about the scar. Just, sometimes it takes him off guard when he's half asleep or run down. It's there, a new companion that reminds him of the world he now lives in, how it's changed and what it's cost. Still, sometimes he'll blink at it owlishly in the mirror like he's doing now, at the way it runs alongside his collar bone and down. It even separates a mole into two neat halves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	monster at the end of the book

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/BigBangArt-Banner_zps36d94b30.jpg.html)

It's not like he forgets about the scar. Just, sometimes it takes him off guard when he's half asleep or run down. It's there, a new companion that reminds him of the world he now lives in, how it's changed and what it's cost. Still, sometimes he'll blink at it owlishly in the mirror like he's doing now, at the way it runs alongside his collar bone and down. It even separates a mole into two neat halves.

Stiles leans forward, hands braced on the sink in front of him and bares his teeth at himself. Time was, he might have thought that the scar was badass, but now because of where it came from and what it means, he hates it. It doesn't really bother him because he can hide it and he's chosen to permanently mark himself in other ways... just the circumstances in which it happened were less than ideal.

The light above him in the precinct bathroom sputters and Stiles glances at it, eyes narrowed. _Stay on_ he thinks at it vehemently and it brightens. "Yeah, that's right, bitch," Stiles huffs and the light, obviously contrary, gives another sharper _tink_ and dies completely. "Shit," Stiles sighs into the inky darkness.

The door opens behind him and Stiles makes a noise so he doesn't scare the bejeesus out of whoever's entering. Small, delicate hands find his shoulders in the black so it's either Lydia or Allison. Stiles is pretty sure Lydia is a safe guess because Allison wasn't due back this morning. There's a snap and then green light chases the shadows back into the corners of the bathroom and confirms Stiles' assumption.

"Hey, you okay?" Lydia asks. She has her toiletry bag tucked under her arm and a worried frown on her face.

"You should knock. I might've been naked," Stiles says, tugging his shirt on.

"Please," Lydia snorts. "I've seen every member of this pack naked enough times that it doesn't even register anymore."

"Lies," Stiles says, bows his head to accept the light charm on a chain Lydia goes up on her toes to drop around his neck. He picks it up, huffs at the faintly glowing dismembered Barbie leg he's now wearing. "Tabby has a strange sense of humor."

Lydia lifts her own light charm in solidarity. It's the head of a My Little Pony and Stiles grins to see it. "What's up? Why'd the light die?" she asks, tilting her head at him. "I rely on you to be able to see enough to put on makeup without having to go outside."

Stiles gives the fluorescent above a baleful glare, thinks _on_ at it and it gives another pathetic _tock_ like a cooling car engine but doesn't do anything else. "Just tired I guess," Stiles sighs, scrubbing a hand over the back of his head. He generally doesn't have to use light charms like the others because he can power the normally dead electrics.

"They'll be back soon," Lydia says, eerily perceptive. Stiles never sleeps well when the pack's on an Ark run. He's only ever really at ease when every single member is within their own Ark's walls. "They'll be fine."

"Yeah, I know," Stiles says, then shuffles out of the way for Lydia to get to the sink. She squeezes his elbow as he passes her and stumbles out into the hall, blinking at the stronger light and hitching at his pants that are slipping down. He's going to have to punch another hole in his belt and try and hide the fact that he's dropped more weight when Derek's back because Derek tends to fuss about stuff like that. Admittedly, it's kind of adorable fussing and frowning and a small part of Stiles enjoys it.

Stiles returns to the converted office that's now the pack bedroom and straightens the blankets on the bunk he slept in before he makes his way to the locker room. He yanks his locker open to tuck his toiletries away. As he makes his way back out, he stops by each of the other lockers to press a hand against the crude drawings they made of themselves on the doors instead of their names and whisper _safe_ with each press of his hand. It's a habit more than anything else and if he doesn't have enough juice to run the bathroom light then he certainly doesn't have enough to cast a protection on the pack from miles away but Stiles still feels better doing it.

Allison comes in when he's reached Isaac's locker and his curly-haired stick figure is under Stiles's fingers. She looks tired, like she's ready to drop her gear and go to sleep on top of wherever it lands.

"Hey," she says, mustering the energy to give him a wan smile as she pulls her own locker open. Allison drew herself shooting an arrow at Scott's locker and it always makes Stiles smile.

"Everything okay?" Stiles asks, approaching her and Allison lowers herself with a grateful groan on the bench that bisects the room, propping her feet against the closed door of Scott's locker to start tugging the laces on her boots free. Her fingers are clumsy with exhaustion and Stiles rolls his eyes before he knocks her hands aside and takes over, making quick work of her laces and tugging her boots and socks off.

"Thanks, yeah," she says.

"Care to tell me why you have a shiner then?" Stiles presses, because he's noticed the careful way she's making sure her hair is covering one side of her face and he always knows what that means.

"It's nothing," she dismisses. "Caught a tiny bit of debris."

Stiles leans across her so he can push her hair out of the way and see. She's bruised like he expected and there's a cut over her eyebrow. "Deaton," he proclaims.

"Stiles, I'm-"

"No arguments. Then I want you to come back so I can check your wards."

" _They're_ fine," Allison insists.

"No, they're not," Chris says, appearing at the end of the row of lockers. He looks as tired as his daughter but there's something forever steely about the man. Stiles has learned to like him a great deal over the years, something he never thought would happen. "A chunk of brick ricocheted off me and hit her."

Stiles raises his eyebrows at Allison pointedly and she groans, dropping her head into one of her hands. "I need a shower and some sleep, or possibly someone to just throw a bucket of water on me while I'm sleeping. I'm good with that."

"Deaton first, then me, then soggy bed," Stiles instructs and Allison kicks at his shins. He's very glad he took her boots off already. He's really hoping Melissa will spot her in the hospital and make her sit still for long enough to get checked over properly with her mom glare.

"All quiet?" Chris asks, his eyes flicking to Stiles.

"As a tomb," Stiles confirms. "We had some border wards tripped but by the time we got there whatever had messed with them had skedaddled. I reinforced them anyway," he adds. That's probably why he can't power so much as a light today, reinforcing already existing wards always takes more out of him than anything else, especially if they've been tested recently. Stiles pokes Allison in the shoulder because she's fallen asleep sitting up while he was talking and she jerks, punching him hard in the hip by reflex. "Ow."

"Sorry," she says, but her grimace isn't very convincing and looks like it's hiding amusement.

"Come have some breakfast before you drop, _after_ Deaton," Stiles says. "I'll check you while you eat and keep you from passing out in your mush at the same time. Multi-tasking, thy name is Stiles."

"Fine," Allison sighs as she digs a water bottle out of her pack and dribbles a little on her wrists and then presses them to her temples. Stiles offers a nod to Chris as he tugs a hoodie out of his locker before he retreats. He gets one in return and knows he can trust Chris to herd Allison to Deaton then the school before he gets any shuteye himself.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/stiles_zps1e414301.jpg.html)

*

Stiles thinks it's patently unfair that he's twenty-two, they're currently living in an apocalyptic future and yet he still has to trudge to Beacon Hills high school most days. Stiles had campaigned for their border to leave the school well and truly on the outside, but he could see the value of the large building being included. It made excellent barracks, refugee center, communal cafeteria and library. The top floor is a hospital run with an iron fist by Melissa, because the hospital itself didn't survive the battle to push back the Shifted for long enough to put up the Ark wall in the first place.

Stiles pushes the large front doors aside and still, after all this time, half expects to see students milling about the halls in backpacks and bored expressions. The hallway is empty now, the rows of lockers removed long ago.

Stiles follows the sound of voices and joins the queue snaking its way into the cafeteria behind two women he vaguely recognizes as having only made it to the city the week before. He'd heard they were some of the few to have survived the Cedar Lake Ark being overrun. The Cedar Lake Ark had been a hunter only outpost that had only recently accepted an apprentice of Stiles' and Deaton's to set wards around their Ark. They'd believed their fortifications were enough and their change of heart proved too little, too late.

Stiles feels something clench inside at the thought of Hannah who they'd sent to Cedar Lake. Small, brave and endlessly tireless Hannah who'd bothered Stiles until he'd agreed to teach her what he knew, passed her on to Deaton when she'd shown a natural flair that Stiles recognized from himself. She'd been helping them translate some of the more ancient books when Cedar Lakes had called for help. Hannah had been the first to put up her hand to go, anxious to prove herself.

She hadn't been one of the survivors to make it to Beacon Hills and Stiles figured it was because Hannah was the type to stand her ground.

Someone bumps up behind him and Stiles looks over his shoulder to see Allison, practically asleep on her feet again. She has the tell-tale green stain over the cut on her forehead that means she's visited Deaton like Stiles wanted. "Hey monkey butt," Stiles says, affectionate.

"Hey yourself, turnip face," Allison rejoinders through a yawn and Stiles snorts. He's not sure where the tradition of ridiculous insults cropped up from that they trade between them, but it's one thing they share alone and he likes having something with Allison no one else does, no matter how odd.

"Hey, you Argent?" one of the women in front of Stiles has turned and noticed Allison.

Allison fists her hands in the material at Stiles' hips and leans around him. "Yes, Allison," she says, detaching one of her hands to hold out to shake.

"Tracy," the other girl introduces herself. "This is Angela," she adds, indicating her friend. An older man cuts into the queue in front of them as they're talking and Tracy turns on him with a mock scowl, poking him in the shoulder. "Hey old man, no cuts."

"That never stops being funny," the man says dryly as he turns but also steps out of line. The way he moves and looks reminds Stiles so strongly of Chris that he figures it isn't that much of a leap to assume he's a hunter from Cedar Lakes. "I'm Caleb. Don't believe anything these two tell you about me."

"Stiles and Allison," Stiles repeats.

"Oh Allison, good," Caleb says. "I was hoping to catch your father and thank him for opening your borders to our people so readily. I understand it's probably a burden you weren't expecting," he continues.

"I guess these days all you can expect is the unexpected," Stiles offers and Caleb barks a dry laugh, raising his eyebrows.

"Very true."

They pass through the line at the cafeteria counter, get bowls of grey-looking but nutrient dense oats and a more than pleasant surprise of a wedge of orange. Caleb looks hilariously astounded by the presence of it on his tray but waits until they're sitting before he holds it out. "You've got fresh fruit?"

"Some. A few vegetables too. Not really enough to go properly around yet, hence the measly portion." Stiles pushes his wedge aside, wanting to save it till last so it's the taste he has in his mouth when he leaves rather than the porridge.

"How?"

"We've got a guy concentrating on green magic. He's made some stuff grow out on our old Lacrosse field even though the ground isn't exactly the most fertile." Stiles feels a pang at that. There aren't a lot of open spaces to run around anymore and the Lacrosse field had been one of the few left, the Beacon Hills public park well outside their border. Sebastian had quickly claimed the field though and Stiles had watched it slowly converted to neat rows of growing things. "We're still mostly a canned and scavenged good based society but that can't last forever, right?"

"Right," Caleb agrees. He finishes his meal faster than Stiles who tends to try and savor and Allison who's practically asleep in her bowl and he's standing before they're done. "Well, it was good to meet you."

"You too. I'm sure I'll see you around. It's a small Ark after all," Stiles says.

"Before I... can I ask a favor?" Caleb says.

"Uh, sure?" Stiles says, always wary.

"I heard you have a Shifted penned in here somewhere. I've never gotten to study one up close that wasn't trying to kill me. I was wondering if I could-?"

"No," Stiles says sharply, then grimaces when Caleb blinks, obviously surprised at his sharpness. "Sorry, he's not a zoo exhibit."

"He?" Caleb says, raising a brow and then his expression sobers and turns sympathetic. "You know who it was," he says and it's more of a statement than a question.

"Yes, I know who it _is_ ," Stiles corrects and Caleb holds his hands up, obviously sensing he's crossed a line.

"I didn't mean any offense," he offers.

"Sorry, just... it's a delicate situation."

"I guess so," Caleb agrees. He raps on the table with a knuckle and then leaves with a little salute. Stiles waves and as he disappears, Lydia takes his spot at the table.

"Who's the silver fox?" Lydia asks, eating her orange wedge first because that's the kind of person she is.

"Ugh, gross," Stiles grumbles. "Next you'll be saying Allison's dad's hot too."

"He is."

"Ew, Lydia!" Stiles exclaims, thumping his head on the table.

"Pickings are slim these days. A girl's gotta broaden her horizons."

"There's broad horizons and then there's nose-diving off the edge of the earth."

"Not all of us can have an adorably devoted werewolf to call our own," she says primly and Stiles gapes at her.

"Um, I _don't_ and you _do_ , remember?" Stiles protests and Lydia gives Stiles an exasperated _yeah right_ roll of her eyes. "Or did you have a fight with yours right before they left on their Ark run again, because that's some brave stuff right there."

"Jackson and I always fight before he leaves," Lydia says with an unconcerned shrug. If Stiles didn't know her as well as he did, he might even believe that she was as flippant about it as she appeared. "I don't want him trekking into danger all happy and settled. He'll move heaven and earth to get back to me this way."

"I guess that makes sense," Stiles says, dubious. He turns to Allison and jabs her with his spoon as her nose dips dangerously close to the insides of her bowl. "C'mon, sleepy, show me some sugar."

"Who's being gross?" Allison says through a yawn but turns in her seat so she can lift her shirt. Stiles passes a hand over the clean skin of her back interrupted only by her sports bra and frowns.

"They're _completely_ gone. Christ, tell me you didn't go out on a patrol like this?"

"I can't really see, they're on my back," Allison hedges but Stiles can tell that it's exactly what she _did_ do.

"That is so irresponsible!" Stiles squawks.

"You're one to talk," Allison says, dropping her shirt and turning to face him. Lydia looks between them, intrigued.

"What does that mean?"

"I heard what you told my dad. The minute we take our eyes off you, you're going to make a run to the secondary border protections, aren't you?"

"I need to find the breach," Stiles says when Allison's narrow-eyed glare tells him that there's no point in lying. "Something hit the primary fence and it might've just been a rat or something but I still have to check it."

"Stiles, you have to wait for the pack. They're due in today-" Lydia starts to protest.

"You know that only means they'll get here sometime in the next week if we're lucky," Stiles argues. "If the breach is a big one and Shifted start pouring through, there could be dozens, maybe hundreds of them between the fences by then. There'll be too many to push back out and we'll lose the secondary fence line and have to set up another border inside the primary one. Do you really think right now what we need is _less_ space?"

"Ink me now so I can go with you at least," Allison says.

"You're dead on your feet. You're not going anywhere."

"I'll take a power nap. Two hours."

"Besides," Lydia interrupts. "You're out of juice. You're going to have to wait at least that long if you need to reset any of the wards."

Stiles glares at an unrepentant Lydia as Allison raises her eyebrows at him, a definite _aha_ in the expression. "Fine," Stiles grits between his teeth eventually. "I won't have time to ink you properly, though. I'll see what Tabby has in the way of protection charms. They won't be nearly as strong as the tattoos so if anything comes at us, you have to promise you'll get behind me."

"Okay," Allison allows grudgingly, then gets up and reaches across to tug on a lock of Lydia's hair. "I'm trusting you to not let him sneak off without me."

"I won't let him out of my sight," Lydia promises.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/11399391294_b5bf2bc201_o_zps226b1320.png.html)

Stiles has always been good at disappearing in plain sight so he manages to lose Lydia pretty handily after an hour. He has to admit that he might not have been as sneaky as he thought though when he reaches the border gate and finds Allison there waiting for him, crossbow slung over her shoulder and gun in a holster on her hip.

"Did you sleep at all?" he grumbles.

"Who needs sleep?" Allison says, digging a pill box out of her pocket and rattling it.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," Stiles huffs and Allison rolls her eyes.

"Relax. It's stuff Deaton gave me and believe me, he was very grudging about it. I don't think I'd be able to talk him into more if I wanted to."

"You ready?"

"Are you?" Allison asks.

"Ta-da." Stiles holds his hands out, spreads his fingers and they spark. Despite that, Allison still looks dubious.

"You can't tell me you had time to recharge properly."

"I have ways of forcing the issue."

"Is this going to be like that time you slept for four days straight and we couldn't wake you no matter what?"

"Fun times," Stiles sighs.

"Derek freaked out completely. I don't want a repeat performance, thanks."

"I'll be fine," Stiles dismisses and he sketches a jaunty wave at Greenburg who's manning one of the crows nests by the fence.

The primary wall of the Ark is a lot of recycled material, concrete, glass and metal. It has a dual purpose, creating a border for their little town and hiding the inhabitants from the outside world. It's for morale mostly. Out of sight quickly becomes out of mind. The secondary border is a chain link fence that's been heavily warded. It looks far too flimsy to keep out the Shifted, but Stiles knows for a fact that if either wall wasn't warded, the Shifted would plough through both with about as much regard.

The no man's land in between the fences is a large stretch of barren earth, swept clean to give them an unimpeded view, no vegetation or debris to hide lurking monsters. Stiles can't help feeling horribly exposed as they walk towards the second fence line. Despite the wards, it still looks like a flimsy fence that would blow over in a strong wind. He knows it's mostly a mental thing that he feels safer behind the more substantial wall.

It takes about five minutes to walk the distance between fences. They didn't want the secondary line too near or they would have Shifted on them if they breached the first fence too quickly but it had to be close enough they could reasonably maintain it. It's a weirdly dead space, the wards blocking sound and smell as well as physical penetration so the Shifted aren't attracted to their Ark.

Stiles feels compelled to babble through the silence, basically harping on about Allison going outside without protection and culminating in threatening to tell Scott.

"He's not my dad. You can't tell on me to Scott," Allison points out, her focus outward, sweeping the fence line and beyond with her eyes.

"Yeah, but he can give you the very special _Disappointed Face_ ," Stiles says, knows Allison hears the capital letters. "That's just as bad as- aw crap, what the hell?" They've reached the fence and Stiles can already see the hole in the chain link and the broken ward. The protection and repulsion symbols are burnt into a block of mountain ash and usually wired to the fence, but this one is snapped clean in two.

"How can that happen? I thought the Shifted couldn't even get close enough to touch them."

"They can't, usually," Stiles says.

"Might've been another animal?" Allison guesses.

"I suppose," Stiles allows, but it seems unlikely. "How's your spidey senses?"

"Tingling," Allison says, immediately understanding his reference as she raises her crossbow.

"Let's make this fast then," Stiles says, kneeling by the broken ward and the gap in the fence and sliding his backpack off. He has wire ties to close the gap in the fence and another warded piece of mountain ash that he's brought just in case and is glad for it now. He's just reaching up to pull free the damaged ward when something bursts out of the undergrowth on the other side of the fence.

Stiles only has time to turn his back to it, protections layered over one another. The Shifted, because it definitely is one, snaps out a giant paw and its claws rake the air mere inches from Stiles' spine before screeching away. The thing roars in outrage, thwarted and then grunts as it forces its way through the damaged area of the fence.

Stiles scuttles backwards, feeling the sting of one of his tattoos breaking. He's never been able to make the protection ones permanent and they burn out given enough trauma. Something whistles past his ear and then the creature lets out another enraged noise as one of Allison's arrows hits it in the right eye.

"Nice!" Stiles calls as he scrambles up, the sound of more of the fence giving way behind him chasing him onto his feet. Allison hooks the crossbow back over her shoulder and pulls her gun, firing rapidly.

The Shifted have always reminded Stiles of Peter Hale's Alpha form. As the thing clears the fence and stands up on hind legs, roaring, it towers over them, monstrous in size and countenance. Stiles thinks, not for the first time, my fault, _that's my fault_ as it drops to all fours and charges them.

They can't outrun it, but as Allison's gun clicks dry they attempt to anyway because there's nothing else they can do. Stiles feels a claw snag the back of his shirt as he sprints and then he's shunted forward. A blessedly familiar roar cuts through the Shifted's own as he stumbles and goes down.

Stiles slides to a stop on his belly and rolls over to see Derek’s leaner, sleeker Alpha form with his maw clamped around the Shifted's throat. It lets out a gurgling, high pitched whine of complaint before it stills, paws sliding loose in the dust when it's dropped. Stiles lets his head thump back, staring at the blameless blue sky above until Derek's now human face appears in his line of sight, chin bloody and eyes livid.

"Did I ever tell you that you have impeccable timing?" Stiles enthuses, as he holds a hand out to Derek and waggles his fingers. Derek grasps his wrist and tugs him up, a little more forcefully than probably necessary as Stiles nearly goes over the other way, steadied by Derek slapping a hand to his chest. "Okay, ow."

"Are you _kidding_ me," Derek rages. Stiles looks away, guilty. He sees Scott grasping Allison to him with wide, relieved eyes and Isaac shuffling over to the broken fence to peer at it with a concerned frown.

"I was just-"

"I don't want to hear it, Stiles," Derek yells and Stiles cringes. Derek's face under the blood is pale and distraught. Stiles hates making him look like that.

"We needed-"

"Stiles!" Derek barks, holding up a hand, giving him an _I mean it_ glare and Stiles closes his mouth. After a moment he even makes a show of zipping his lips although that makes Derek's nostrils flare in fury. Derek looks over to where Isaac's standing and then jabs a finger in that direction. "Fix it and then we're going back into the Ark."

"I don't know if that's the only breach," Stiles protests immediately.

"Isaac and Scott will check the rest of the fence line," Derek says. He nods at them and they take off, Scott giving Allison one last squeeze before he tears himself away.

"I need to check for weak spots."

"You need to get back behind the wall before I strangle you."

"I survive the mutant werewolf apocalypse only to be killed by a regular one. Typical," Stiles huffs as he makes his way back over to the fence. Derek grabs him on his way by, grasps both his shoulders and shakes him a little.

"You nearly just died. Don't you get that?" Derek sounds more exasperated now than angry but this makes Stiles bristle.

"I'm not stupid," he grates out, snatching himself out of Derek's grip.

"When you do stuff like this-"

"Like what? We would've had wall to wall Shifted inside the fence line in the next few hours. We're just lucky there aren’t more _now_."

"How is you dying out here helping anyone?"

"I had to risk it."

"You could've waited for us, or at least gotten a detail to come out with you. You don't think." Derek actually goes so far as to smack the flat of his hand against Stiles' forehead. It doesn't exactly hurt, but it makes him bristle more all the same.

Stiles knows that Derek is being annoyingly logical, but he's still got adrenalin pumping through him and fruitless frustration to spend. Stiles isn't completely clueless, he know Derek and he are having _some_ kind of relationship and they're still trying to figure out the boundaries of it without actually discussing it at all. When everyone looks at them in exasperation, wondering just what their problem is and why they can't get over themselves already and just be together, Stiles longs to point out situations like this. "Stop lecturing me. You're not the boss of me!"

"I'm your Alpha."

"Oh god, sure, trot out that old chestnut. Do you really think that wins you any arguments with _me_?" Stiles hunkers down and gets to work on the fence without giving Derek a chance to answer. The gap has been made larger by the Shifted forcing its way through. He scowls at it as he works, trying to ignore the way Derek is looming behind him.

"Just don't-!"

"Finished," Stiles says as Isaac and Scott skid to a stop beside them, both panting.

"The rest looks fine," Scott says.

"Of course it _looks_ fine. I need to check it properly."

"We'll send out Tad with Boyd and Jackson when we get back. You're done," Derek decrees.

"I'm _done_?" Stiles splutters.

"Guys, do you think we could take this lover's spat behind the wall?" Isaac asks, Stiles not the only one made uneasy by the apparent flimsy barrier the chain link fence represents.

"You can't _ground_ me, you're not my dad," Stiles hisses and Derek blinks, looking like he was just slapped. Stiles throws up his hands and makes for the wall, trying not to feel too petulant about stomping his feet and kicking dust up on his way.

He only looks back when he hears the sound of dragging behind him as Allison catches up to him. "Ugh, do we really need to bring it inside?" Stiles grumbles.

"Deaton will want to take a look. I should've been able to drop it but it just kept coming. We need to check if they've mutated further."

Stiles feels coldness steal over him. If the Shifted are becoming immune to their weapons, they might become immune to his wards too. The broken ward unsettles him more than ever and he lets Allison link their arms as Scott presses in on his other side, needing reassurance by contact.

Right now, he needs it too.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/11399391294_b5bf2bc201_o_zps226b1320.png.html)

When Stiles gets back to the station, he's exhausted. There's no sign of the other wolves, probably eating and showering in the outdoor communal area as a priority. In their bunkroom, Allison is already passed out on one of the bottom ones, curtain pulled closed to maximise the darkness, one limp hand poking out.

Stiles makes his way back to the cell area, heavily converted to cater for a special ongoing guest. Chris had wanted the reinforced cell put in the basement but Stiles refused, demanding it be where everyone could see it, couldn't forget it. This was one thing Stiles didn't want out of sight or out of mind.

Stiles slumps down in front of the cell door, solid metal cool against the palm he rests on it. There's a small viewing window at the top but Stiles doesn't bother with it. He can hear clearly the huffing, growling breaths behind the door. Stiles crosses his legs and leans his forehead against the door.

"Hey, dad," he says tiredly.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/11399391294_b5bf2bc201_o_zps226b1320.png.html)

Stiles had crawled into the bunk with Allison afterwards, her so deeply asleep that she'd only snuffled and rolled over when he'd gotten under the covers. None of the pack sleeps alone if there's another option. Stiles wakes later to find Scott has joined them, snoring softly with one hand tangled in Allison's hair and the other with a tight proprietary grip on Stiles' hip.

Stiles takes a moment to ruffle through Scott's hair before he slides out of bed. He takes stock of the room when he emerges. Jackson and Lydia are asleep on the bunk above theirs, Isaac, Boyd and Erica all jammed into the one directly across. On the lower bunk in the opposite corner of the room, Derek is by himself and Stiles startles a little when he realizes Derek's eyes are open, reflecting in the dim light.

"Where are you going?" Derek asks softly. He's probably still mad and they're _definitely_ going to have another argument about what happened, but they made a pack rule a while ago. No fighting in the bedroom. It was always to be a place of peace. Stiles thought it was a silly rule initially, but learned to appreciate it when tensions ran high. The wolves picked up on each other's emotions so easily and rest was fleeting. You got what you could when you could.

"Allison and Scott are _morning delight_ types," Stiles says with an exaggerated grimace and a delicate shudder. "I can ignore it in the same room as me, but probably not in the same bed."

"You're still tired," Derek says and it's an observation more than a question. Stiles shrugs and Derek rolls his eyes, jerks his head in obvious invitation.

Stiles crosses to him without protest. He still feels wrung out and another few hours rack time won't hurt. He slips under the covers with Derek, lets Derek shuffle him around and wrap arms around him, bury his nose in Stiles' hair. It calms Derek, having pack members so close, having Stiles so close.

As Derek drops off, breath going deep and even, Stiles thinks about how he ended up here.

When he was sixteen, Stiles wanted to see half a body in the woods and he dragged his best friend along. He never could have imagined such a simple thing would ultimately lead to this place, these circumstances. Also at sixteen, after he'd gotten to know Derek, he never would have pictured being in a narrow bed with him, Derek's warm sleep-breath on the back of his neck.

Stiles has always been attracted to Derek, ever since Derek did his grumpy old man routine at them in the woods about being on private property. He wishes they _could_ get over themselves and figure everything out, but initially there was high school and a continuing avalanche of bad times and then the whole apocalypse. Stiles knows Derek is holding himself back, not willing to reach out and take something he wants when there's so much resting on his shoulders, so many people relying on him. Stiles, probably for the first time in his life, isn't willing to push, terrified that he'd just end up driving Derek away for good.

"Stop thinking," Derek quietly chastises when Stiles just continues to stare into the dark.

"Are we ever going to-?" Stiles starts to ask, despite everything. He blames it on the exhaustion, on very nearly dying.

"What?" Derek prompts gently.

"Nothing," Stiles sighs and Derek, because he's good like that, lets it go.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/11399391294_b5bf2bc201_o_zps226b1320.png.html)

Everyone's gone when Stiles wakes again and he yawns as he attempts to dig himself out of the blanket burrito he's made. He uses the bowl of water on a stool by the door to wash briskly when he manages it, hoping that whoever used it last changed it out and then pulls on jeans and a hoodie and makes his way to the vet office.

Like most buildings inside the Ark border, it's been gutted and converted to serve another purpose. The medical equipment was transferred to the upper level of the school and the makeshift hospital there and desks and shelves put in their place. It's now a library of sorts and Stiles has his nose buried in a packet of stale trail mix when he greets Lydia who's already settled at the large table in the middle of what was once one of Deaton's examination rooms.

She has a book open with a notepad beside it. She's tapping on the notepad with a pencil and scrunching her nose. They've been slowly working their way through translating Deaton's personal stash of books and what they could salvage from the Hale house. They'd found a fireproof safe when demolishing the more damaged parts that Derek hadn't known about. The books in the other rooms in the vet's office are more general interest, for use by everyone, but only Lydia and Stiles have a key to the lockbox the Hale books are kept in.

"I've been thinking," Lydia says as Stiles plops down opposite her and pulls the book he'd been halfway through the day before the rest of the way when Lydia slides it towards him. Lydia's working her way through Deaton's books because most of them are either in Latin or Greek but Stiles had taken on the books from Derek's family home, mostly because they were in a language that he'd chosen to believe was an ancient werewolf dialect and Derek, despite heavy eye-rolling, couldn't deny it.

"I never learned," Derek had said when they'd found the books and Stiles had gotten to be excited only for the handful of seconds before Derek had revealed that he couldn't read a word of it. "Mom wanted me to but I never saw the point."

"Maybe we should have another look at that reversion spell," Lydia muses, breaking into Stiles' thoughts.

"We're banned from that, remember?" Stiles says, then furrows his brows and turns down his mouth. " _Banned_ ," he says in a deeper growl in what he thinks is a pretty good Derek impersonation.

"We might be able to figure out a way to use just a part of it, make it localised," Lydia says, ignoring his antics.

"Look, Lydia, I'm all for-"

"I know you're a little gun shy," Lydia interrupts and Stiles boggles at her.

"It's not that."

"No one blames you."

"Can we not do this?"

"I mean, it's my fault too."

"Lydia, geez," Stiles groans, rubbing over his forehead.

"I mistranslated-"

"Lydia!" Stiles snaps and she breaks off, eyes wide. They have this same argument at least once every other week, and while Stiles is normally ready to jump in with both feet, today he's still a little weary. He's already fighting with Derek. He's trying to restrict himself to fighting with one pack member at a time and usually this argument culminates in Stiles and Lydia not talking to each other for at least a day, both pissed and stubborn and needing either Derek or sometimes even, strangely enough, Jackson, to shove them back together.

"When you ditched me yesterday," Lydia says, eyes narrowed, changing subjects handily in a way that makes Stiles squirm. "That new hunter guy was asking about you."

"Me?"

"He was interested. He reversed his anti-magic stance a little too late to stop a bunch of his people getting killed and one of ours. Maybe that's prompted a full conversion."

"Yeah, I don't know. Those guys don't tend to change their minds easily."

"Allison's dad did."

"How much crap did he have to go through before he came around?" Stiles says, holding up a hand when Lydia opens her mouth. "Plus, he's still highly dubious."

"How come you're in here today anyway? Aren't Wednesdays ink days?" Lydia asks.

"I'm hiding from Derek. I can feel a righteous yelling coming on and I'd rather dodge it for as long as possible."

"You don't need to worry. He won't have much time to yell at you."

"What do you mean?"

"They're heading back out today. Going to see if they can salvage anything from Cedar Lake."

"What?" Stiles exclaims, darting up to his feet again.

"Jackson and I fought about his hair this morning already so they're all set."

"No way," Stiles says. "Derek told me I could go with them their next time out. Unbelievable!"

"They were still packing when I left and they're taking the hunter with them as a guide. He's the one that told me. Allison's going too. She got Tad to re-ink her when he got back from checking the fences this morning."

"I'm glad this was all _organized_ without me. People keep telling me I'm part of this pack but then Derek pulls something like this!" Stiles rages, incensed.

Lydia reaches out, grabbing Stiles' wrist before he can storm out of the room. "Stiles, we're worried about you lately. You're getting reckless."

"Oh please," Stiles snorts.

"Fine, go. See if I care," Lydia huffs and Stiles pauses in the doorway, before he crosses back to her and drops a kiss on her cheek.

"You don't have to fight me to make sure I come back," he says. "That's your magic with Jackson."

Lydia pushes his face away from her with another exasperated sound, but she also grabs a handful of Stiles' shirt and says, "You better," in her no-nonsense voice.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/11399391294_b5bf2bc201_o_zps226b1320.png.html)

Stiles finds them at the gate. He'd ducked back to the station, quickly shoved a spare hoodie and a couple of items into a backpack before tearing for the border. He knows if it had just been the pack they would have been long gone, but their leaving was delayed by the presence of humans. Caleb raises his eyebrows when he sees Stiles coming and Derek drops his head. Allison waves and then pokes Scott, saying something Stiles is still too far away to hear but he can guess is probably, _told you so_.

"No," Derek says firmly when Stiles is close enough that Scott can pull him into a headlock and rub a fist through his hair. "Don't think for a second you're going to come with us after what you pulled yesterday."

"Are you trying to punish me?" Stiles demands. "Sneaking off without telling me you're going is pretty shitty, even for you."

Derek grabs Stiles' elbow, hustling him sideways. The betas will still be able to hear them, but Caleb won't. "I didn't tell you because I knew this would happen."

"Why fight the inevitable?"

"Stiles, you can't come with us. You're too-"

"Weak? Human? A hindrance? I can hold my own," Stiles snarls

"You're too _important_ ," Derek says, sounding fed up. "You hold this entire Ark together with your bare hands every day and you don't see it."

"Tad, Sebastian and Tabby can hold the fort."

"What about your dad?"

Stiles reels back a little. Derek only uses his father to win an argument when he's _really_ pissed. "I can't help him sitting behind a wall twiddling my thumbs. If you won't let us try that reversion spell-"

"Stiles, you know how I feel about that."

" _Fine_ , then let me come. I might see something out in the occupied zone that'll give me a clue as to how to stop this whole mess."

"I doubt it. There's nothing but Shifted out there."

"Look, either you let me come now, or I can follow you at a nice, unsafe distance."

"Let him come," Jackson pipes up from the other side of the pickup he's loading with supplies. "He can be bait if we get bored and want some Shifter action."

"Ass," Stiles grumbles, then turns pleading eyes on Derek.

"From what you've told me, he's pretty darn useful," Caleb interjects.

Derek huffs again, looking annoyed but finally acquiesces.

"Fine, but you do what I say, no arguments. If you do even one thing to endanger yourself or anyone else I'm sending you back here with Scott."

"Why me?" Scott protests and Stiles gives him a dirty look.

"I really enjoy these moments when you talk to me like I'm five," Stiles says, turning back on Derek.

"Stop acting like you're five then."

Stiles pokes his tongue out in a fit of pique, then rushes over to his jeep, plastering himself against its side. "Oh baby, I've missed you," he croons. "Who has the keys?"

"You're not driving," Derek says, spinning them on a finger.

"No, no _way_ ," Stiles protests, launching himself at Derek who holds him off infuriatingly easily. Derek's hands linger around Stiles' waist and Stiles jerks away with a pained expression when Derek digs into his own jacket and brings out a power bar that he throws at Stiles. It hits him in the sternum, a little too hard and Stiles rolls his eyes as he palms the bar and rubs at his chest at the same time.

"I want to see you eat that whole thing before we leave," Derek says and Stiles makes a show of peeling the wrapper off and shoving the whole thing in his mouth in one go. It's a terrible decision, his eyes water and he immediately wants to spit it back out to be able to breathe but he perseveres, chewing with difficulty and trying not to let it show on his face that he might suffocate.

"Happy?" he grunts with a still mostly full mouth when he can pull air through chocolate and nuts.

"Ecstatic," Derek says completely deadpan and makes a show of getting into the driver's side of _his_ jeep, dammit.

"Shotgun!" Isaac crows and Stiles stares at him, disbelieving.

"I am _not_ riding in the back seat of my own jeep."

"Fine, stay here," Derek says and Stiles fumes for all of three seconds before he swings up into the back of the jeep, Caleb settling beside him.

"I knew telling your little red-haired friend was a good idea," Caleb leans over to whisper conspiratorially. Derek lets out an annoyed grunt from the front and Stiles wonders if he should warn Caleb that he's landed himself well and truly on Derek's shitlist.

Jackson is driving an old, salvaged pickup, Erica, Boyd, and Scott loaded in the back with Allison in the cab with Jackson. The rule of an Ark run is always two vehicles in case one bites the dust. The wolves are fast, but the Shifted are faster.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/11399391294_b5bf2bc201_o_zps226b1320.png.html)

Stiles envies the wolves being able to go on Ark runs. The Ark settlement becomes claustrophobic after a while, knowing you're going to be treading the same streets day in and day out really affects you. Stiles knows he hadn't really left Beacon Hills that often _before_ , but the option taken away altogether makes a difference. He'd been looking forward to epic road trips with Scott, going to college and making bad decisions and learning from them.

He knows the freedom he feels as they speed away from their Ark is just an illusion, that they're as trapped outside the Ark walls as within. He can't help the frisson of excitement leaving the Ark gives him though. He watches the Ark disappear behind them and something loosens in his chest.

Isaac's singing low and off-key in the passenger seat as he looks over a map. Caleb has slumped sideways on his end of the back bench seat, apparently out as soon as they'd left. Stiles has gotten used to that with the hunters, most of them able to drop off anywhere as soon as they feel safe enough, snatching sleep when they can like it's a habit.

"How far, do you think?" Stiles asks, leaning forward into the space between the passenger and driver's seats. Without looking, Derek hooks a hand around and pushes his face back. "Ugh, rude."

"About two days if we don't hit any trouble," Isaac provides with a smirk over his shoulder.

"We'll have to camp?" Stiles asks.

"Yeah. It's too dangerous driving at night and the headlights attract the Shifted. We're better off stopping and making a defensive perimeter," Isaac explains.

Stiles marvels a little at the difference in Isaac these days. When he'd first been bitten he'd swung wildly between lost puppy and Jackson-level douchebag. During the post-Shifted years he'd settled into himself, no longer feeling the need to posture and show off and shedding the uneasy air of a too-often kicked animal as well. Stiles had always thought that Boyd or Scott would naturally fall into a second-in-command role with Derek, but it's Isaac that seems to have stepped into that particular vacancy.

"You able to set a perimeter for us?" Derek asks and Stiles catches his eyes, or at least the reflective hollows of his sunglasses in the rearview mirror.

"I brought everything I needed just in case," Stiles says, picking up his backpack from the footwell and shaking it. It jangles in a comforting way and Derek nods.

"We'll stop an hour before sunset. Will that be enough time?"

"Should be," Stiles agrees and Derek nods again, satisfied.

"How come it's too dangerous at night? Don't you have Alpha infravision?" Stiles waggles his hands in front of his eyes for a moment like they've sprouted tentacles.

"The Shifted dig traps," Isaac says and Stiles sees Derek frown at Isaac, like it wasn't the type of information they should be passing on.

"They dig _traps_? I thought they were mindless killing machines? What are they doing digging traps?" Stiles asks, bewildered.

"We don't know if it's them. Could be survivalists, last man standing types. There's still a few outside the Arks and they're not really polite when it comes to trying to take your supplies," Derek explains tersely.

"It's not like they're setting sophisticated punji traps," Isaac argues and Stiles gets the feeling this is an old, cyclical debate. "They know to dig up the road and they'll usually do it just after the crest of a hill so you can't really see it in the dark."

"Wow, hardcore," Stiles breathes. He drums on his knee for a second with nervous fingers as the silence stretches before he asks, "What were you humming before?"

Isaac looks back at him blankly for a second before he snorts and says, "Oh, that old Proclaimer's song. The Five Hundred Miles one. Been stuck in my head for days."

Stiles needs no further encouragement, bursting into a lusty rendition of the song. Isaac blinks at him for a second, before he smirks and joins in and Derek threatens to pitch them both out of the jeep without stopping.

Caleb sleeps through the whole thing.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/11399391294_b5bf2bc201_o_zps226b1320.png.html)

Stiles is backed into a corner and there's an Alpha werewolf bearing down on him. He's not sure how he got into this position, how he could be so _stupid_ to have boxed himself in but he doesn't really have time to contemplate the terrible decisions that led him to this moment because the werewolf, a huge B-grade monster movie of a thing, launches itself at him.

At the last moment a warm body hurls itself across him and it's his _dad_ , landing on Stiles, knocking the air out of him with an ill-placed elbow. That ceases to matter because the Alpha lands on the both of them and sinks teeth into his dad's shoulder. His dad lets go of this punched-out black yell that will haunt Stiles' nightmares for years to come and then someone collides with the Alpha, rolls away with it, either Scott or Derek, Stiles can't tell.

His dad is pulling up and away stiffly, patting at Stiles to make sure _he's_ okay even though the BHPD shirt his dad is wearing is steadily soaking with blood, flooding red like litmus paper. "Stiles, are-?"

"I'm okay dad, Jesus. What were you thinking?" Stiles breathes out, terrified beyond belief. There is too much blood and his dad's skin is going rapidly pale.

"I wasn't, I-" his dad starts to say, but then he jerks, body rigid and eyes wide. "Stiles, I don't think-" he starts again but then he's stumbling away and coarse black hair is exploding out of his body, his uniform shirt is ripping in two and it's like all the bad CGI Stiles has ever seen, a horror of twisting transformation.

"Dad! You've gotta listen to me, you've gotta calm down!" Stiles yells, because his dad is the _first_ , before they know anything, before they really understand what they've done. His dad's head, horrifically stretched and so beyond recognition it makes Stiles gasp, whips around at his voice and his lips pull back from sharp teeth. "Dad, it's me! You've gotta-"

His father lunges and the only thing that stops Stiles' face being crushed by powerful jaws is Derek. Stiles looks up, sees Derek wedged between his dad and the wall, arm thrust into the jagged expanse of his dad's mouth. There's a sickening crack and Stiles knows it's the bones of Derek's forearm breaking.

"Stiles," Derek manages through a mouth grown taut with pain as his dad strikes out around Derek, like he's determined to get at Stiles and Derek is just in the way. Derek is knocked sideways enough that his dad is able to get a giant paw around and drag a claw down Stiles' chest.

It's the worst thing Stiles has ever felt.

Derek brings the arm not ground into paste around and grabs Stiles by the scruff, basically pitching him towards Isaac who catches him awkwardly, both of them tumbling to the floor. There's daylight where there wasn't before, a ragged hole punched into the side of the warehouse they're in and the Alphas, the three that were left, are gone.

"Don't kill him," Stiles begs weakly as Isaac holds him down, trying to stop the blood that's flowing out of Stiles too fast with just his hands. Isaac is looking frightened as Scott and Boyd attempt to pry Derek free of the monster that was his father-

"Stiles!"

Stiles jerks awake. Derek is turned around in the driver's side of the jeep, arm stretched between the front seats and hand on Stiles' chest, right over his scar. Isaac and Caleb aren't there and Stiles breathes raggedly, Derek not removing his hand until the hitching rasp of Stiles' breaths even out to something approaching normal. He puts shaky fingers up to his face, finding his cheeks wet and dashes at them impatiently, embarrassed.

"You okay?" Derek asks, brow furrowed in concern. There's the sounds of the others outside setting up camp, talking low, wary of their voices carrying before they're inside wards.

"Yeah, just a nightmare," Stiles says and Derek's face softens a little, infuriatingly understanding. "I've got an hour, right?" he adds, wanting to wipe that look off Derek's face, like Stiles is fragile and weak, something that needs to be looked after.

"What do you need?" Derek asks, and Stiles suspects that Derek's not asking about the protection he needs to cast, but he willfully ignores the other way that question can go.

"Rocks, lots of rocks."

Derek just looks at him for a beat, before he sighs and says, "Do they have to be a particular size?"

"Bigger than pebbles, smaller than boulders," Stiles answers smartly, grinning at Derek and hopes it doesn't come off as fake as it feels.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/11399391294_b5bf2bc201_o_zps226b1320.png.html)

"Blood's best. It's not always practical though and I've found most, um, bodily fluids work in a pinch. The saliva is the least offensive to werewolves," Stiles explains when Caleb raises an eyebrow at him daubing the stones the werewolves dutifully, if grumblingly, brought him with his own saliva. He's making a circle around their entire campsite, will make a secondary circle inside. The first is to make them somewhat invisible to the Shifted and the second is more defensive and will actively repel them if they get close enough.

"Still stinks. When's the last time you brushed your teeth?" Erica asks, screwing up her nose and Stiles flips her off.

"Be grateful," Jackson interjects, making a face. "Do you really want to sleep inside a Stilinski jizz ring?"

"I know someone-" Erica starts to say and that's when a stone comes flying out of nowhere and bonks her on the head. Erica whips around, eyes narrowed, searching for the perpetrator but Derek, Boyd and Isaac all have an armful of stones and innocent expressions so it could have been any of them.

"Just ignore them," Stiles instructs Caleb, who pulls a very _already there_ Chris Argent-like face at him and Stiles grins, hooking a finger back in his mouth as he works.

There's the sound of a few dozen rocks hitting the ground and Stiles looks up automatically, seeing the way the werewolves are doing their meerkat impressions, all attentive and frozen. Caleb notices Stiles' focus has shifted and makes a grab for his sidearm but Stiles shakes his head slowly as first Derek, then Boyd, Erica and Jackson take off in the direction all the wolves were looking. Scott and Isaac back up until they're bracketing Stiles and Allison who joins them with her bow held loosely by her side.

"They won't get close enough for you to use that," Allison says to Caleb who's still gripping his gun like he's expecting to need to shoot it at any second. She glances at Stiles and says, "You got enough to finish the outer circle?"

"Yeah," Stiles agrees and trots over to the dropped rocks, shrugging his hoodie off so he can use it like a makeshift bag. He gets back to work, trying to ignore the way Isaac and Scott tense and relax in turns, like they know exactly what's going on with the others. He's pretty sure they do, but he won't get anywhere asking.

"What happens if your werewolves get bitten?" Caleb asks Allison behind him and Stiles frowns to himself when he hears the sour note in Caleb's voice when he says the word _werewolves_. It reminds him strongly of the way Gerard Argent used to say it, like it was a horrible slur.

Either Allison doesn't notice or she chooses to ignore it, because she just answers him plainly. Isaac and Scott are too distracted by whatever's going on outside of their little perimeter to care. "Luckily for us, they heal like normal. I mean, it used to be that an Alpha's bite was the only thing that changed a human, but the Shifted are different. They pass on the mutation and there doesn't seem to be any lines, any Alpha, Beta or Omega."

"A monster is a monster is a monster," Caleb says and Stiles feels that prickle, what Scott calls his Stiles-sense. It's the same feeling he got when he looked at Matt Daehler, knowing without being able to really _know_ that there's something wrong. He's thought about it at length, wondering if it was just an inherited bad-guy sense, the same one that made his dad such a good cop or whether it's linked deep down to his magic, to be able to sense darkness.

Loud and clear in his mind he hears Admiral Ackbar say, _it's a trap_.

Stiles takes a step forward, gets out half of Scott's name before Caleb raises the hand he's holding his gun with and shoots Scott in the back. Scott goes to his knees as Isaac whips around, eyes already gold but Caleb shoots him in the throat before Isaac can launch himself. Caleb is a lot closer than Stiles had realized and he now hooks his free arm around Stiles' own neck before he can dart sideways and drags him into a human shield position.

The rounds are wolfsbane, the smell getting caught in Stiles' nose as he's tugged closer, immobilised by horror. Allison's raised her bow but Caleb's gun is now pressed to Stiles' temple and she's frozen, torn between going to Scott and Isaac and defending Stiles. Both Scott and Isaac are fighting to stay upright but Scott keels over into the dirt with a groan, blinking black tears and Isaac follows after, letting out a low, pained noise.

"What the hell?" Stiles demands as Allison slowly steps back until she's standing over Scott with her bow still poised, her mouth a grim line. She shuffles a foot until the toe of her boot is also touching Isaac and his panicked struggles ease a little with the contact.

"I'm sorry for the ruse," Caleb says, sounding casual, like he has all the time in the world. It makes something freeze inside Stiles that he thinks he does, that he's not worried about a set of pissed off wolves coming over the hill at him.

"Was the Cedar Lake Ark even overrun?" Allison asks.

Caleb sniffs. "Not so much, no. We got tired of sitting on our hands and waiting for the inevitable end. I intend to take this world back and I've found out there's a way to do it." Caleb jostles Stiles and he makes a sound of protest.

"I don't know what you think I could do that I haven't already done-?"

"I want the guy that caused this whole mess in the first place."

Stiles goes cold all over, starts struggling in earnest but Caleb just chuckles and tightens his hold, pressing the gun harder into the side of Stiles' head. "I don't know what you're talking about," Stiles wheezes when the arm tightens around his throat more.

"One thing I was always good at was chasing down rumors, finding the kernel of truth at their core. Stories floated around about how this was all magic, that this was a goddam _spell_ gone wrong. It didn't take long to reconcile that with the stories I'd already heard through the hunter community about Beacon Hills. When we got that little apprentice of yours, how we made her sing."

 _Hannah_ , Stiles thinks desperately. She hadn't known everything, but she'd known enough, that there was a way to possibly set the world back to rights but that Derek was the one that had put his foot down about it. Stiles wasn't willing to follow the full spell because it meant risking his dad's life, but he'd been trying to find a way to use part of the spell and Derek had found out the specifics and freaked out.

Hannah had been helping him and Lydia research before she'd left.

"What do you want?"

"Just you and your capacity to crack open the whole mess like an egg. I want you to find a way to obliterate these monsters for good and I and my guys can be very motivational when we want something done."

"Fine, I'll come with you. Just leave the others."

"Was planning on it," Caleb says agreeably, then raises his eyebrows at Allison. "Keys to the pickup if you don't mind?"

"Go to hell," Allison snaps.

"Look, I'm pretty sure your two doggies here will survive being shot the once but that might change if I shoot them again, in the head this time, hmm?" Caleb says, swinging the gun in the direction of Scott and Isaac who are both struggling to gain their feet. Scott opens his mouth, probably to protest but a gout of black fluid gushes out of it and hits the ground around his hands.

"I'll make you a deal. I'll trade you the keys for one of these," Caleb offers and even though the hand he's opened is next to Stiles' cheek and he can't see what's being offered, he knows it's one of the wolfsbane bullets Caleb just used on Scott and Isaac. They'd need the wolfsbane used on them to heal and Stiles can tell by Allison's expression that she knows she doesn't have a choice.

Allison digs in her pocket as Caleb sets Stiles aside, making sure to keep the gun trained on Scott as he accepts the keys, then walks backwards towards the pickup. "C'mon, then," he barks at Stiles who hesitates for a second before he trots after the man, hating that he doesn't know where Derek and the others are.

Just before Caleb gets into the pickup, Stiles already slumping resignedly into the passenger side, he says to Allison, "I know you'll be thinking that you'll catch up to us even before we reach Cedar Lake so I'm going to let you know you have a choice here."

Stiles feels gooseflesh break out across his skin, sure that whatever Caleb is about to say, it's going to be _bad_.

"Whether to kill you slow or fast?" Allison asks. Sometimes she reminds Stiles strongly of her mother and _sometimes_ that isn't necessarily a bad thing. There are occasions that would benefit from a little crazy-eyed Momma Argent intervention.

"Whether to save this," Caleb says, jerking a thumb at Stiles, "Or your entire Ark."

"What did you do?" Stiles asks slowly, horrified.

"It interested me how quickly you guys scrambled when I broke just one of your fence wards."

"That was _you_?" Allison says, her eyes narrowing dangerously. She's definitely coming down on the kill-slowly side.

"We needed a distraction to snatch something else from your Ark that was required. I figure you'll have your hands full considering I left instructions with my guys to break every single one after we headed out."

"Beacon Hills will be overrun," Scott groans. He's managed to get to his knees while clutching Allison, eyes still streaming black. "You're killing innocent people."

"You have hunters," Caleb dismisses.

"Not nearly enough. Not without us there," Scott protests. He's reaching out for Isaac as he talks, who's curled into a ball and whining into his own chest.

"Then you'd better hurry," Caleb says. He tosses the bullet past where Allison's standing before he pulls himself into the pickup and peels out.

"When did it happen? When did you go evil?" Stiles asks hollowly, hunched against the door and wondering how badly it'll hurt if he just flings himself out. He knows it's pointless, that Caleb will just either shoot him or drag him back into the truck. He'd still risk it if he thought buying time for the others to catch up to them would be worth it, but they're going to have to head back to Beacon Hills first. They'll _have_ to.

"Sacrifices have to be made for the greater good. If you try to save everyone, you don’t end up saving _anyone_ ," Caleb says and Stiles sighs, because he hadn’t realized he was dealing with a zealot which is so much worse than someone just garden-variety bananas.

"God, did you read that in a book somewhere? _One hundred and one platitudes for when you're planning the deaths of innocents?_ " Stiles groans.

Caleb seems to be done with Stiles' shit because he lashes out, catching Stiles in the temple with the butt of his gun and Stiles misses what he’s sure is the rest of a very eventful trip.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/11399391294_b5bf2bc201_o_zps226b1320.png.html)

Stiles has no idea who started calling the little outposts of humanity amongst the carnage _Arks_. It was just one of those things that originated in an unknown somewhere. That being said, it was apt to have the rafts of survivors named Arks because they were adrift on a sea of horror that seemingly had no end, no safe harbor in sight. It would be nice to think someday there would be a dove with a twig in its beak ready to lead them to a better place but Stiles isn’t holding his breath for that.

Beacon Hills is in contact with eight different Arks, most of them a good deal smaller and populated with mostly ex-military, hunters and other sundry survivalists. Beacon Hills is really the only one with a majority of civilians trying to recreate a semblance of normal in a bubble, a sustainable future. That makes Beacon Hills a good deal more vulnerable than the rest so it’s lucky that it has resident werewolves and a few kickass magical individuals that can give it a little edge defence-wise.

Derek and the others go on what’s called _Ark runs_ , looping between the Arks to trade news and supplies. Stiles had wanted to call them the Wolf Express but Derek had shot that down pretty quickly and for once Derek had gotten his way. Somebody, Stiles can’t even remember who now, had asked once where the other werewolves had gone, the ones that existed before the Shifted and Stiles honestly didn’t know. His pack seemed to be the only werewolves left and it was Lydia that had theorised that the Shifted had targeted werewolves first, one apex predator wiping out another to claim territory, but they couldn’t know for sure.

For all they knew, the werewolves not tied down by humans had fled a long time before, like birds ahead of a storm front.

Derek had always been a little grim when talking about the Cedar Lake Ark. They accepted the pack coming in, but only grudgingly and Stiles had nearly fallen off his chair in surprise when he’d heard that they’d broken and asked for the help of a magic user. They had been the most die-hard of the die-hards, the last man standing types that Derek talked about with worry in his eyes. They’d wanted to survive on sheer grit and determination and from how Derek had described it, would have cut themselves off from everyone else if they’d been able to.

Stiles comes to when they’re pulling in to Cedar Lake and it’s pretty much exactly how he pictured it from the pack’s stories. There’s an overabundance of urban survivalist chic going on and a feeling of desperate digging in. In Beacon Hills they laugh, they have town meetings, they even have community nights in the cleared out school auditorium where he makes people sit through movies like _The Stand_ and gets stale popcorn thrown at his head for his trouble. It’s all very small town quaint. Here, in Cedar Lake, Stiles gets the impression that the overall feeling is grim determination without much else.

There’s a wall much like their own circling the area, but Cedar Lake reminds Stiles more strongly of a fort than a town. The wall has been built wide enough for people to patrol the top, edged with razor wire on either side with wolfsbane threaded through the loops so it looks almost pretty. Stiles can imagine his pack gets uncomfortable even getting close to the place, much less entering. He wonders now if they even do or if Derek and the others are met outside like hostile bandits in a parlay.

“For what it’s worth, I wish this hadn’t been necessary,” Caleb offers gruffly, noticing Stiles is awake and blinking blearily.

“ _Necessary_ ,” Stiles snorts, derisive.

“I don’t see where you get off being judgemental.” Caleb says and Stiles doesn’t know how he ever saw this man as another Chris Argent. Chris would never sound so petulantly peeved. ”I mean, this is all on you anyhow.”

There it is, the one thing Stiles knows and can’t really reconcile himself with. Derek had said to him over and over _it was no one’s fault_ but Stiles is pretty damn sure that the blame rests squarely on his shoulders. In his darker moments, Stiles has wondered if maybe he’s still fuelling this whole thing, if he takes himself off into the Wastes, lets the monsters take him down, that it’ll all just... stop.

Derek holds him extra close, is extra vigilant with him on nights where that kind of thinking starts to feel like a good plan, as if Derek can smell the self-destruction on him. Stiles guesses that Derek has been living with his own similar impulses for so long that he can sense it on others.

There’s another truck pulling in at the same time as them with a large crate on the back. Stiles isn’t sure why, but he _knows_ what’s in the crate the way it shudders in place, the overabundance of chains lashing it down to the truck.

“No!” Stiles blurts, launching himself across the pickup’s cab at Caleb in a blind rage. Caleb catches him easily, but probably isn’t expecting the tattoos on Stiles’ arms to trigger. Caleb screams as the ink burns bright under his palms and the smell of frying flesh makes Stiles let out a manic war cry.

The pickup’s driver’s side door is yanked open and two big guys reach in, yanking Caleb out from under Stiles. Somebody must have opened the passenger side door as well because Stiles is caught around the ankle and unceremoniously dragged out of the vehicle, still spitting in rage. He’s clocked again, but the blow this time is only glancing, catching the side of his temple but doesn’t put him out all the way and he's up and tearing towards the shipping crate, hands held out in front of him, fingers sparking.

From inside the crate, like his dad knows he’s coming, he roars.

Stiles isn’t sure what his plan is, other than to free his father. If the first person his dad kills is him, he’s willing to take it if it'll give his dad the chance to go down fighting. He’s not sure what these hunters are planning for him and his dad, but it won’t be anything good and he’s not willing to stick around and find out.

Something hits him in the neck before he reaches the crate and it's only sheer adrenalin that keeps him going a few more steps before his legs buckle. Stiles is only inches from his dad, reaches out desperately but someone steps on his questing hand and he’s probably lucky that the tranquilizer he’s been hit with, because that’s what it was _goddamit_ , is working because he only _hears_ three of his fingers break, rather than feels it.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/11399391294_b5bf2bc201_o_zps226b1320.png.html)

Stiles wakes up in a small room cleared of all furniture and with a concrete floor. He's in a chalk circle and even as he sits up, he feels it draining him, binding him. Stiles rubs at his eyes, trying to forcibly remove the muzziness and that's when someone clears their throat.

Stiles turns around slowly and sees Hannah sitting cross-legged on the other side of the room. She's got her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, watching him with large, sad eyes. She looks like hell, cuts and scrapes marking the parts of her forearms Stiles can see, her right eye black and her lip cut. There's old and fresh damage, places where chunks of her hair's been tugged out and four of the fingers on her right hand have the ends taped over and Stiles is pretty sure there are no nails underneath anymore.

"You look like crap," is the first thing she says, a little mangled because she's being careful of her split lip. She's in a second circle, hers purple chalk and his red. They're far enough apart that even if she and Stiles stood on the very edges and reached for each other, they wouldn't touch.

"Very unfortunate to see you too," Stiles says wryly. He checks himself over, quick and perfunctory. Most of his tattoos are gone, the skin tender where they were. Someone beat on him for a while to activate and drain them all and when he moves, his body agrees with that assessment. He feels like one giant bruise and looks it too, stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt probably so the hunters could make sure he wasn't hiding anything. He contemplates his skinny legs sticking out of his boxers for a while, chewing on his lip.

"I've decided I like Beacon Hills better. I'm done with this place," Hannah says.

"Any ideas how we get out of here?" Stiles tries not to think about the fact that Hannah's been here for about two months, only hopes that she hasn't been in this room for that long but he's starting to suspect that she has been. He feels _awful_ , like he should have known something like this was going on. He should've-

"Hey, stop that," Hannah says, her eyes narrowing at him.

"Not doing anything."

"You couldn't have known this was happening."

"What _did_ happen?"

"They made me set all the wards the first few days, then someone hit me over the back of the head when I was done and I woke up here, in this." Hannah smacks a palm down on the floor, indicating the binding circle. "How do these guys even know how to do stuff like this?"

"You've probably got a couple of witch hunters here. Not all of them specialised in werewolves."

"Well that sucks," she grumbles.

"Hey, at least you have the purple circle. They still must want to keep you alive. It only hurts if you touch the lines, right?"

Hannah frowns. "What does red do?"

"Magic Lesson One," he says in his best Deaton impersonation, which isn't very good at all according to Scott. "Red means dead."

"Wait, if _you're_ here, in that, then what's happened to Derek and the others?"

"I don't know," Stiles admits.

"You didn't come here alone though?"

"We were on our way here. Caleb and a few hunters came into Beacon Hills about a week ago, claimed this place had been overrun. We were coming back on salvage duty when Derek and the others except for Scott, Isaac and Allison took off after some Shifted they smelled. Caleb shot Scott and Isaac with wolfsbane and grabbed me."

"Are they-?"

"I think they're okay," Stiles says, fighting the childish urge to cross his fingers, then does it anyway because it can't hurt, on his right hand with the unbroken fingers anyway. A lot of magic is about belief.

"Wait! That means they're on their way here now and they are super pissed. Awesome," Hannah enthuses, looking brighter than she has since Stiles woke up.

"Hannah-"

"There is no way Derek is not tearing after you right now, frothing at the mouth and ready to kill anyone that stands in his way. Hey, have you guys resolved that whole thing yet?"

"What-? No, Hannah, listen to me. They're not coming. We have to save ourselves this time."

"Why wouldn't they be coming?" Hannah demands, looking like Stiles is trying to tell her that the sky is orange.

"Caleb left some guys in Beacon Hills. When we left, they went out and broke the wards on the wall as a distraction. Derek has to go back to Beacon Hills, he _has_ to."

Hannah still looks dubious, but then her mouth pulls down. "A distraction for what?"

"They wanted my dad. They... he's here. They brought him here."

"What would they want with your dad? What does that mean?" she asks and Stiles sighs heavily, scrubbing over his head with his good hand. He hasn't told this story before, because according to Derek, anyone not involved wouldn't understand. Stiles knows it's mostly so the good citizens of the new Beacon Hills wouldn't run him and Lydia out of the town with blazing torches, not that he'd blame them.

"It means they know what we did," Stiles starts to explain.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/11399391294_b5bf2bc201_o_zps226b1320.png.html)

"Unmindful, I'm sure it's _unmindful_ ," Lydia says, tapping at the word with a pen with feathers and googly eyes.

"But are you _sure_ sure?"

"I wouldn't bet my life on it," Lydia says, then raises an eyebrow at him. "Maybe yours."

"We all know the exchange rate on my life is terrible, so I'm not reassured." Stiles stands and stretches. They've been at this for six hours now and his eyes feel gritty and tired, his whole body aching. It's nothing though compared to what's going on with Scott and Isaac, considering the Alphas have had them for a whole day, which is a day too long as far as Stiles is concerned.

Derek's pressing for a frontal assault, impatient with Stiles' insistence that there has to be a better way. He knows Derek's not going to wait for him much longer, that he, Boyd, Erica and Jackson are planning to storm the Alpha hideout. It's a clapped out farmhouse in the middle of nowhere because the Alphas seem to have believed in leaving no cliché unrealized.

Speak of the devil, Derek's hunched in his window when Stiles looks up.

"Anything?" Derek barks in lieu of a greeting.

"Maybe," Stiles says and when Derek gives him _get on with it_ rolls of his hands, Stiles plucks the book out of Lydia's grip and holds it out. "There might be a way we can make the Alphas unable to see you."

"Be _unmindful_ ," Lydia corrects, standing so she can snatch the book back and settle primly on Stiles' bed again.

"Seriously?" Derek says, sounding grudgingly impressed.

"You won't be invisible, they'll just ignore you."

" _Maybe_ ," Stiles asserts. "You know what would have been helpful? If you'd paid attention at werewolf school instead of running around the forest chasing rabbits."

"There's no werewolf school," Derek groans, pressing his fists into his eyes for a moment.

"I choose to believe that there was, with tiny desks and little chalkboards and you forced into a fetching uniform with a hole for your tail in the pants."

"I don't have a tail."

"My point stands."

"This book isn't in some ancient werewolf language, even though you like believe it is."

"That doesn't matter. It's a language your _mother_ could read that isn't any known human dialect and she tried to teach you but you were too busy-"

"This isn't helping us," Lydia says from the bed, tossing a pillow at Stiles.

"If we had a Delorean-"

"Why do we always devolve into the _if we had a Delorean_ argument?" Derek groans, sounding truly put-upon and Lydia's watching them with scary calculation and wry amusement.

"What?" Both Derek and Stiles demand at the same time.

"I'm sure you boneheads will figure it out some day," Lydia sighs, then stands again and straightens her skirt, tossing the book back to Stiles. "Are we doing this thing?"

"You're sure it says _unmindful_?" Stiles presses as he follows Lydia out of the bedroom, Derek stomping moodily behind them.

Turns out Lydia was right, in absolutely the worst way.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/11399391294_b5bf2bc201_o_zps226b1320.png.html)

"Unmindful of _everything_ ," Stiles says as Hannah watches him, face hauntingly neutral. "We basically made hugely powerful, evil Alphas even more powerful mindless killing machines that passed on a kind of magical contagion."

" _You_ did," Hannah says flatly.

"My dad received an anonymous tip to go out to the farmhouse for a disturbance that night. He thought he was going to find a bunch of underaged kids drinking so he didn't even bother with backup. He wasn't expecting..." Stiles makes a helpless gesture with his hands. "He was the first one bitten by the Alphas. He got bitten saving me."

"What then?"

"Three of the Alphas got away. By the time we tracked them down and killed them, it was too late. It spread faster than we could catch it. We called in hunters, other werewolves, witches, everyone. It was a fast-moving zombie plague in real life and the world went dark."

"You were trying to save Scott and Isaac," Hannah says slowly.

"I didn't mean for-" Stiles lets out a shaky breath.

"That was monumentally stupid," Hannah says.

"I know."

"You've been beating yourself up about this the entire time, haven't you? It's why you have some maudlin deathwish."

"I don't-"

"Stiles," Hannah says, shaking her head. "Do you blame Lydia for this, what's happened?"

"Of course not."

"Do you blame Derek?"

"No!"

"They're equally responsible. What about your dad?"

"My _dad_?"

"He put himself in the way, and when your pack should have been chasing after the Alphas, they were instead trying to hold him captive without hurting him and stop you from bleeding out on a dirty warehouse floor."

"Stop-"

"I'm not trying to say you _aren't_ responsible. I'm just trying to say that you should stop trying to swallow down this poison all on your own."

"They know about the reversion spell."

"They know what I _told_ them about the spell."

"Didn't they compel you?" Stiles asks, arching an eyebrow at her damaged arms, at the pulpy mess of her face.

"They _compelled_ the crap out of me, but that doesn't mean I told them the right thing."

"They have my dad. They know enough to have brought the first Shifted here."

"That part they already knew. They're about to get a nasty surprise when they try out the rest."

There's this deep, dark _yank_ from within Stiles like something being tugged free at the very core of him. He knows what it is because he knows the spell being used, the _reversion_ spell that Derek banned Lydia and Stiles from so much as looking at because the kind of power it needed...

"We were most of the way to figuring it out, me and Lydia," Hannah says in a low rush. "There was a way to cast it without killing the foci, not completely."

Stiles and his dad are the _foci_ , his goddamned _spark_.

Suddenly there's a roar, way too close and outraged. Stiles jerks, because he knows it's his dad, the same way he'd know Derek, Isaac or Scott by their individual roars, as unique as their speaking voices.

"What did you do?" Stiles breathes. He's gaping at the door, expecting it to be thrown back at any moment, admitting a monstrous version of his dad and it would be the last thing he would ever know.

"Hannah, what did you _do_?"

"She wouldn't let me try. She wanted to keep researching. She was scared and I understand why now. She was scared of making everything worse but... what could be worse right?"

Stiles feels his heart plummet just with those few words. _What could be worse?_

"Hannah, what-?" he starts to ask for the third time and that's when there's this monumental rip, but it's not external, it's _inside_. Stiles had always hoped he'd be stoic and tough when it came down to it, when he'd reached the end of his mortal string, but he screams now, a sound torn out of him as much as the magic that's being drained. He raises his head although it takes more effort than it should and says, "You'd better make damn sure you survive this because you have to save my dad and tell Derek that I'm sorry, that I'm _sorry_ for being such a huge disappointing fuck up. That I'm-"

"You're going to tell him yourself," Hannah says, eyes gleaming in a way that would make Stiles back up if he had anywhere he could go. She lifts her foot and there's a tattoo on the vulnerable skin of the arch, a weird spot and therefore obviously missed.

"I found a way to share," she says and the tattoo flares brightly as the door to their little room caves inwards, showering Stiles with splinters just as he loses his grasp on consciousness.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/11399391294_b5bf2bc201_o_zps226b1320.png.html)

Stiles opens his eyes, feeling the worst kind of hungover. His dad's face is bare inches from his own and Stiles grunts, "Geez, just a few more minutes," and tries to turn over in bed, except he's not _in_ bed. He's being held close to his dad's chest who's staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes and also, _hello_ , completely naked.

At that moment it clicks and Stiles remembers where he is, what's happened, why it's so odd that his dad is holding him.

"Stiles?"

For a second, the voice is so alien, so unexpected that he doesn't recognize it. Stiles blinks owlishly at his dad, naked as the day he was born and streaked head to foot in red but blessedly, strangely and unexpectedly _human_.

"Dad?" Stiles breathes. He's hallucinating with terror, he must be because his dad has picked Stiles up like he weighs nothing and is holding him almost too tightly, probably for too long because Hannah clears her throat behind them.

"Uh, little help?"

"Dad, just-" Stiles is reluctant to let go once he's set on his feet in case this is a temporary respite only. His dad had helpfully broken his binding circle when he picked Stiles up so Stiles is able to cross quickly to Hannah's, leans down and rub a knuckle through the chalk outline until she visibly relaxes and bobs up, throwing arms around Stiles in relief. He disentangles himself after a moment and she heads over to the door, carefully peering out as his dad reels Stiles back into his side like he's planning to keep him there permanently.

Stiles doesn't mind so much.

"You didn't die!" Hannah says, sounding pleased and also, more disturbingly, surprised.

"I thought you'd fixed it so I wouldn't?" Stiles says slowly as his dad, reverting to non-verbal mode in concern and probably a healthy lump of shock, starts patting at him like he's still reassuring himself that Stiles is there.

"I mean, I was pretty sure but I'm not exactly you, you know."

Stiles holds out a hand, flexes it for a moment and it feels... like just his hand. "I don't think I'm exactly me either," he says slowly.

"Stiles, what's going on? Where are we, who is that and what the hell happened to my clothes?"

Stiles turns in the circle of his dad's arms, claps him on the shoulder and says, "That's Hannah and... maybe pants first? Long, drawn-out and horrifying explanations later?"

His father, ever stoic in the face of the ridiculous and Stiles is _very_ glad to see that's one thing that hasn't changed, nods grimly and lets Stiles go even though his expression says he'd rather not right now. There's a long, low howl from outside that makes gooseflesh break out on Stiles' skin.

"Dammit, Derek," Stiles sighs, because obviously Derek against any and all better judgement followed Caleb instead of heading back to Beacon Hills.

When Stiles glances back at his dad, Hannah has backed away from him because his eyes are gold and his teeth are looking a little more pointy. Stiles feels a wash of disappointment that maybe he's only going to get his dad back for a handful of precious moments which _aren't enough_ no matter how many times he swore in his prayers that that was all he needed. He's surprised though when his dad seems to take a deep breath, center himself and the fang-show recedes.

"Woah," Stiles breathes and he meets Hannah's large, startled eyes.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/11399391294_b5bf2bc201_o_zps226b1320.png.html)

They find Derek outside pawing through detritus, an inhuman sound of pain and loss filling the air. Stiles can understand. It looks like a warzone. Stiles isn't exactly sure what happened, but there's blood and bodies, not enough to account for everyone that had been inside the Ark. A bunch of vehicles are gone so Stiles figures a large number of people got away. The border fence is knocked down, obviously people in their desperation to flee deciding to plough on through it rather than worry about the gates.

Stiles whistles and Derek's head jerks up immediately. He's in full Alpha form, a large beast a lot sleeker and more wolf-like than Peter had been. Derek freezes, like he can't really believe what he's seeing so Stiles holds his arms up, spins around to indicate he's really fine. He's only ninety percent through his pivot when he's knocked to the ground and getting sniffed and licked almost to death.

"Oh god, stop!" Stiles says, but he can't help laughing. It's a giddy, relieved noise that's almost hysterical and Stiles thinks maybe he's suffering a little from shock too. Derek pulls back, but only after he's given Stiles the tongue bath of his life and then he's swivelling to face Stiles' dad, a low growl starting up in his throat.

"Yeah, you can quit that right now," Stiles snaps, never ceasing to be amazed when Derek does almost immediately, scraping his claws over the ground and looking about as contrite as a werewolf can. Stiles rewards him by hugging his muzzle and then casts about until he finds a dropped backpack, making a noise of triumph when it yields clean cargo pants that look like they'll fit Derek.

He holds the pants out and Derek takes them gently in his jaws before he lopes towards an overturned car to hunker behind, casting glances back at Stiles a few times before he disappears obviously to make sure he doesn't go anywhere.

"Stiles-" his dad starts to say but Stiles holds a hand up. He knows when he starts explaining, it'll be a few hours before he can stop and he's not ready for that quite yet. His dad subsides, consoling himself with putting a hand to the back of Stiles' neck and tugging him into the curve of his body again. Stiles is too tall for his dad to rest his chin on the top of his head like he used to when Stiles was a pre-teen. Instead they have to content themselves with resting their heads together, Stiles a little taller than his dad now which he's completely forgotten about.

"Stiles." It's Hannah this time, his name said on an awed whisper. Stiles looks at where Hannah's pointing, the farthest corner of the Ark and right where a truck must have driven through the fence and he sees what makes her sound like that. There's people out there, a loose cluster of men and women of different ages, all completely naked and looking more than a little bewildered.

"Holy werewolves, Batman," Stiles says, astounded. "Uh, dad-?"

"I got it," his dad says, making his way over to the strangers with his hands up and out, a peaceful gesture. Stiles just watches him go, amazed and speechless because his dad knows about as much as these people do, probably less if they were turned later than he was, but he approaches them with a calm, authoritarian air and they all gather towards him like lost ducklings that have found their momma duck.

Even completely clueless, his dad rocks.

Arms wrap around Stiles from behind and then he's being hoisted off his feet. Stiles doesn't think it's particularly fair that he's about the same size as Derek and yet can be manhandled like a kid, but he rarely complains and now definitely isn't the time to. Derek squeezes him briefly and sets him on his feet again. After a pause, and with a quick check that Stiles' dad is distracted, he grabs Stiles' face and plants a long, possessive kiss on him.

"Um, hey, hi?" Stiles says, stumbling a little when he's released.

Derek looks an amusing mix of embarrassed and unrepentant. "If you're going to insist on nearly dying every two seconds, then I started thinking that maybe I should just get that over with. You know, just in case."

"Hot but really inappropriately timed, just like you, Stilinski," Hannah says, smirking at them before she heads over to the group being wrangled by his dad. It looks like they're hunting for clothes right now and more naked people are appearing, obviously drawn by the long column of smoke snaking into the sky from one of the Ark's center buildings that's burning down merrily.

Stiles can be forgiven for not noticing that considering the kind of day he's having.

"Are they-?"

"All werewolves," Derek says. He's now holding onto the bottom of Stiles' shirt, not doing anything, just holding and he's looking at the group that's increased now. There's a little girl with them and Stiles watches his dad hunt about until he finds a blanket he can bundle her up in, holding her against his hip. She slumps against him, one thumb firmly in her mouth and Stiles tries not to melt into a puddle on the spot. "What happened?"

"Hannah used the spell," Stiles says. "Or, well, got the Hunters to accidentally cast it anyway." He doesn't have to explain which one given the way Derek stiffens beside him and then yanks him around and starts patting at him much the same way his dad had, looking for non-immediately-apparent injuries. Stiles lets him do what he needs to, knowing that it would be useless to try and wave Derek off. Derek leans in and gets his nose against Stiles' neck, reeling back with it scrunched almost immediately.

"You smell different," he says, eyes narrowed in Hannah's direction, accusatory.

"I think I'm okay, just... maybe no more spark juice?" When Derek looks at him in surprise, Stiles continues, "I mean, I've been tapped out before. The great three-day sleep-in will attest to that but this feels different."

"It's missing, the scent I associated with your magic," Derek says, nodding.

"What did that smell like?" Stiles asks, interested. He knows he should go over and help his dad and Hannah since they're starting to look a little overwhelmed but he can't bring himself to move away from Derek right now.

"Uh, it's hard to explain. Burnt sugar, maybe?"

"Huh," Stiles says, then turns back to the gathered group of people. "So, a whole lotta new werewolves in the world. How's that going to work?"

"I have no idea," Derek says, shaking his head. He puts an arm around Stiles' neck and Stiles thinks he's going for a hug but then he's shifted into a headlock and Stiles squawks in indignation, slapping at Derek's belly.

"Stiles, I have to make it clear to them from the outset that I'm the Alpha," Derek admonishes, like that's a real excuse.

"My dad is totally cognizant now and will kick your ass," Stiles huffs as Derek lets him go, shoving him towards the new wolves that were once feral monsters and might want to know, just as much as his dad, just what the hell has been going on in the interim.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/Sheriff_zps6a55b525.jpg.html)

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/kellifer_k/media/11399391294_b5bf2bc201_o_zps226b1320.png.html)

"I was wondering when you guys came back how we were going to fit everyone in," Erica says, brushing a hand over her sweaty brow with the back of one of her heavy gloves. She casts around for a moment when everyone looks at her, at the work they're doing, piling the border fences into the back of two pickups and how moot that worry became.

Stiles, his dad, Derek, Hannah and the small group of prior Shifted had gotten back to the Beacon Hills Ark, picking up a stray here and there on the way, to find the fences flattened bordering the small portion of protect Beacon Hills. Stiles had thought maybe his worst fears were realized, until they'd spotted a group of very confused looking people wearing whatever scraps they could find milling outside a barricaded school.

Lydia was the first to emerge from the school afterwards, blinking in the sunlight and punching Stiles on the shoulder. "About damn time."

A week later and they're dismantling the rest of the border fences and watching the little Ark bleed out to fill the spaces they've abandoned, werewolf and human kids running the streets, quicker to adapt to the new world order than the adults.

It's far from perfect. There are werewolves that will never come back the whole way and hunters and solitary survivors both who will be distrustful for years to come, to the point where some might actively still pursue the wolves and those skirmishes have to be dealt with. It's going to be a long road back to normality but Stiles is positive that they're heading in the right direction.

Stiles looks sideways to where his dad is leaning on one of the trucks, his own gloves sticking out of his back pocket and taking a long drag from a water bottle. He looks good, flush-faced and smiling at something Scott says to him. He glances back at Stiles and offers a raised eyebrow and Stiles replies in kind, both of them still a little hesitant about having the other out of their sight for too long.

The section of fencing Stiles was struggling with suddenly becomes feather light and he cranes around to see Derek hefting most of the weight, smirking. "Not all of us can have werewolf-enhanced muscles," Stiles grumbles.

"I happen to be fond of your un-enhanced ones," Derek says with a chuckle.

"Har, har," Stiles says and takes his hands off the fence altogether, smiling when Derek wobbles a little before he adjusts and mock-scowls at him. "So, how's the werewolf yoga going?"

"It's not... would you quit calling it that?" Derek complains, setting the fence section down. Isaac liberates it from Derek as he passes, already carrying one section in his other hand.

"Show off!" Stiles calls after him, before turning back on Derek. "What would you call it?"

"I'm teaching the wolves to center themselves-"

"Ooooooohuuuuuummmm," Stiles intones, putting his palms together.

"I would tell you to come but I don't think you can be quiet for two hours. I think your head would explode."

"I thought you guys had worked everything out," Boyd says from one of the truck beds.

"We have. This is totally foreplay," Stiles says and then winces when both his dad and Derek yell, "Stiles!" at him at the same time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you first and foremost to the brilliant maichan whose art has made this so much better and joined me on this crazy ride. [Tumblr art post](http://maichan808.tumblr.com/post/70178586610/artwork-for-monster-at-the-end-of-the-book-by)
> 
> Thank you as always to laria_gwyn - the kind of beta that a girl cannot do without - who calls me on it when I'm being lazy and whose feedback is always spot on.
> 
>  
> 
> [Author on tumblr](http://kellifer-k.tumblr.com/)  
> [Artist on tumblr](http://maichan808.tumblr.com)


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